


Behind Closed Doors

by butterflycell



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Future Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-05
Updated: 2012-08-05
Packaged: 2017-11-11 11:51:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/478255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/butterflycell/pseuds/butterflycell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happened behind the King's closed doors stayed behind them and no one in the whole of Albion would deny him that - least of all those who knew what he'd sacrificed for his kingdom already.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Behind Closed Doors

**Author's Note:**

> (x-posted from Live Journal) 
> 
> This was the first real porn I wrote for the fandom, but I was trying out a new writing style too - I first posted this about 18 months ago (shortly after the S3 finale) and I'm hoping it's as enjoyable now as it was then!

To the entire kingdom, Arthur is an example of all that is right and good in the world. Their King is strong, brave and fair. He rules with a strength that doesn't crush but is forceful enough to be obeyed without question or resentment.   
  
No matter what kind of ruler he is though, it is clear to all who see them that there is something a little too cordial about the King and his Queen. They laugh together and stand happily side by side, but something is missing in the smiles they share. Of course, only those closest to the royals are in any position to guess the reasons behind such behaviour and of those, there are only a handful who have the courage to guess.   
  
Sirs Elyan and Gwaine know, as does Sir Leon. Percival knows but couldn't care less as long as it doesn't intervene with his King's duties. It is no surprise to any of them that Lancelot and Gwen are more in love than Arthur had ever been with his Queen. They'd all been there in that forest all those years ago. They'd all seen the way Guinevere's eyes had lit up that little bit more on seeing Lancelot arrive.   
  
They'd all had to watch as those first few weeks back in Camelot went by and the two found the lie they were carrying on was too thin to keep going any more, not with Lancelot back for good. When they eventually married, it out of duty, nothing more, and was never consummated.   
  
This much was fact; each of the men concerned had been told explicitly of the situation. Arthur would not stand for any bad feeling directed to the couple. It was not, under any circumstances, adultery. This was just the way things were and he would not deny them their happiness just because he couldn't have his own.   
  
If any of them wondered who the King turned to for comfort, they never voiced it. The only exception was Gwaine.   
  
Gwaine, no matter what his new status meant, refused to act like a noble in any sense of the word. He had no qualms about propping his feet up on the table in the King's bed chambers, reclining happily back in his chair, and questioning him slyly. Arthur was used to such interrogation from his friend and simply grinned as he read through accounts and reports across the table from him. He didn't mind Gwaine's curiosity, not when it was followed with the shameless grin and laughter of a man who didn't care what anyone said.   
  
Arthur never answered, but Gwaine had his theories and he was reasonably sure they were right. He'd shared them with Elyan one evening and the other man had rolled his eyes and shaken his head in a clear exclamation of; ' _no shit, dumbass_ '. After all, the King spent almost every free second of his time with his Court Sorcerer. A few nights later, he'd caught up with Merlin in the corridors, the other man on his way somewhere mysterious, as usual. On being asked the question, Merlin raised his eyebrows slightly, smiled knowingly and turned away, leaving Gwaine to his incredulous bark of laughter.

 

\--

 

What happened behind the King's closed doors stayed behind them and no one in the whole of Albion would deny him that - least of all those who knew what he'd sacrificed for his kingdom already.   
  
Of course, to those who'd guessed, who knew of Arthur's power and skill in battle, the muscle and sinew that kept his body heavy and broad, it would seem obvious to them the logistics of such activities. When factoring in Merlin's slim frame and waif like appearance, it would only seal the deal.   
  
Those assumptions would very rarely be right.   
  
Occasionally, it would be Arthur who cradled Merlin close, pressing into him and taking control. He would wrap his lover in his arms and soothe away everything that had been plaguing him. Whether it was by kissing him and setting a slow, hypnotising pace or coming together in a clash of frantic kisses and rough thrusting that did the job messily, leaving both with bruises and friction burns in the morning. Those times were the minority.   
  
More often than not, it would be Merlin – already stripped down to his breeches - who pulled Arthur from his table and his scrolls, firmly taking the quill from his fingers and applying unrelenting pressure to his shoulders until he moved from his chair. Removing clothing was a matter of efficiency, Merlin taking his King's crown, kissing his brow as he did so. Arthur's eyes would flutter closed and Merlin would linger a little longer than necessary.   
  
He would pull away, placing the crown on the night stand as Arthur shucked his jacket. As he moved to pull his shirt off, Merlin would be back by him. In easy, practised movements, they would pull laces apart and collapse onto the bed.   
  
There would be a moment of stillness then and Merlin would study his lover, his friend, his King. He would watch the steady rise and fall of his chest, an arm flung across his eyes and trying to block out the world like a child. He'd long since decided to leave his beard to its own devices, but it did nothing to hide the shadows clinging to his cheeks and his eyes, or the silver already showing at his temples.   
  
He would lean down, pressing Arthur into the bed as he wrapped an arm around him, lips finding their way to his bared neck. Arthur would sigh and move his arm to lie around Merlin's shoulders. His head would crane back a little and Merlin would move further, covering Arthur completely and feeling strong, callused hands slide heavy and rough along his back.   
  
From there he would do whatever was needed to make Arthur feel safe. He gave so much of himself that there were days that Merlin worried he'd given too much, when he took just a little too long to respond or spent a little too much time staring into the fire.   
  
Those were the nights when Merlin would take control, would pull Arthur to him and cover him with his hands, his mouth, himself. He would see to each and every one of his lover's needs. After as long as was needed to get there, he would slide into him, pull him up across his lap and let them settle. He would feel Arthur's fingers gripping tightly to his shoulders, lips and teeth resting tantalisingly on the soft skin between his neck and shoulder. Merlin would press his ear to Arthur’s chest, listening to the quick, stuttering heartbeat with a smile and knowing that it was him who was doing it. It was him who was having this effect on Arthur Pendragon, King of Camelot and all Albion.   
  
He would wait – forever if he had to – until Arthur whispered against his skin or shifted his hips and then Merlin would move, one arm tight around his lover's waist, one planted behind him to keep them from falling. He would move up and in, slowly, firmly, drinking in each of Arthur's gasps and keens, his gentle urges for ' _more_ ' or ' _faster_ ' or ' _Merlin... god..._ '.   
  
He savours those moments, for the life Arthur has to lead has stripped him of his boyish arrogance and loud nature. He's grown quiet, strong and reserved throughout the daylight hours and on days like these, he withdraws as the sun sinks below the horizon, all wan smiles and tired gazes. He barely says a word over a shared supper, hardly reacts to Merlin's tales of strange magical mishaps and doesn't seem to concentrate on anything.   
  
So to illicit even the smallest of words from his King's lips is all Merlin wants and he obeys them like the strictest of instructions.   
  
He would thrust harder then, and Arthur's head falls back, his back arching and his grip tightening. Merlin knows he'll have little scatterings of half moons across his skin in the morning and knows he'll wear them proudly hidden beneath his clothes. Their hips would move into a steady rhythm, deep and almost painful but so, so intoxicating. Small noises would escape from Arthur's lips and his face would screw up slowly, eyes pressed closed as every muscle in his body tightens and coils in anticipation. Merlin can tell when Arthur's close, can see the sudden panic filling his head that it's too soon, too _soon_...   
  
Merlin would adjust his angle, shifting slightly so that the next thrust makes Arthur's features relax, his jaw unclenching as his breath comes faster and shallower. He'll press his lips to Arthur's chest, drag his tongue along his sternum and taste the sweat beading on his skin. He'll crane his neck and catch Arthur's collar bone with his teeth. A long, hot kiss laced with the smallest of pressure to the skin and he feels Arthur press their bellies together instinctively, creating enough friction so that in one, two, three thrusts, he comes hard and heavily between them with a soft groan.   
  
Merlin would look up as Arthur's body relaxes, his muscles letting go of all their worries and giving him over to his lover's arms. Arthur would curl down and around Merlin, forehead resting on his shoulder, fingers in Merlin's hair and secure on his neck as Merlin starts to thrust again, setting his own, slow pace. All it would take was a soft bite on his earlobe and a tantalising brush of fingers across the nape of his neck and he's gone, spiralling into the same state as Arthur.   
  
Arms would stay tight and secure around each other as Merlin lets Arthur cry silently into his shoulder. It doesn't happen often at all, but Merlin has finally convinced Arthur that crying isn't a sign of weakness, not when it's just them. Merlin knows he would cry each and every night if he was in Arthur's position.   
  
But that's only the bad days. Eventually, Arthur's shaking chest will still and Merlin will recover from his bliss and take Arthur's head in his hands. He'll pull his face up and meet his bloodshot, tired eyes and he'll kiss first one cheek, then the other, finally capturing Arthur's mouth with his own.   
  
They'll kiss with soft movements and gentle hands, exploring familiar stretches of skin and pulling each other back to some semblance of themselves. Each time it feels a little more like they've grown closer, sharing memories and skin and all things that define them as separate people. Each time, the recovery hurts a little less and its a little easier acknowledge that the moment has drawn to a close and time has had enough of waiting for them to catch up.   
  
If, in the mornings, Merlin sees the looks Gwaine shoots him, or the suggestive comments he fires his way, he humours him and says nothing. He would understand if Merlin told him – they all would – but some things are his and his alone.   
  
That the King needs someone to look after him and keep him safe for a few hours each night is something that belongs to Merlin.


End file.
